I shaved my head this morning.
The sun hadn’t yet conquered the horizon
But the birds outside the window cheered for me
As I pulled the shaver from my forehead to my crown.
My tiny fingers gripped the electric razor,
Holding on for life,
As it were much too big for my nervous hands.
I cut my skull three times before allowing myself to cry.
I peeked at the blonde clumps of hair that rained
To the cold bathroom tiles and puddled around my feet.
After finishing, I went to lay in the arms of my blankets,
While my pillows kissed the back of my head,
Healing the nicked wounds scattered over my skin.
I left the hair to sleep in the sink and over the floor.
Welcoming the sun rise, it felt warm against my bare skull
And I wondered if this was how heaven felt like,
Walking up to the gates.